Ms. Bennett brought the document closer.
She asked me to examine the signature once more.
I did.
The longer I looked, the less familiar it became.
Someone had copied the general shape of my name.
They had copied the way the letters leaned.
They had even copied the small gap between my first and last names.
But the writing lacked the natural movement of my hand.
It looked practiced.
Careful.
Wrong.
"I didn't sign this," I said.
Ms. Bennett wrote down my response.
"Have you ever allowed anyone to sign your name for you?"
"No."
"Have you given your husband permission to sign documents in your place?"
I shook my head.
"No."
I stopped.
Then I remembered a conversation from several months earlier.
Alex had been sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone.
He'd asked whether I would mind if he handled some administrative matters for us.
I had told him that depended on what they were.
He laughed and said he was only talking about routine household business.
I had asked whether I needed to sign anything.
He said he would let me know.
At the time, I hadn't thought much about it.
Now the memory felt different.
I told Ms. Bennett about the conversation.
She asked whether I had ever seen the particular document before.
I said I hadn't.
She noted that too.
I watched her write.
It bothered me that my life had become a list of statements on a page.
But I understood why the questions mattered.
I had spent months accepting explanations that required no proof.
Now I needed to be precise.
Ms. Bennett explained that she couldn't determine the authenticity of a signature simply by looking at it.
The document would need to be examined through the proper process.
I nodded.
"How long does that take?"
"It depends on the circumstances."
I looked at Alex.
He had moved closer to the entrance of the booth.
The officer beside him was speaking quietly.
I couldn't hear their conversation, but I could see the strain in Alex's face.
I wondered whether he was thinking about the affair.
Or the document.
Or both.
I wanted to believe there was some explanation that would make the evening less terrible.
But I was no longer willing to invent that explanation for him.
Ms. Bennett asked me whether I had kept any examples of my signature from around the time the document was dated.
"I probably have."
"Would you be able to provide them later?"
"Yes."
She told me not to worry about finding everything that night.
There would be time to arrange the next steps.
I appreciated that she wasn't rushing me.
My mind was already struggling to hold too many things at once.
The cold dinner.
The ring.
The text message.
The woman in the booth.
The signature that looked almost like mine.
Every time I tried to focus on one detail, another returned.
I picked up my phone.
Alex's message was still there.
I read it again.
Happy second anniversary, baby.
I had answered him with a heart.
I remembered doing it before I saw the kiss.
I remembered how relieved I had felt when I thought he had taken a moment from his busy evening to remember me.
Now I felt foolish for being grateful for so little.
I put the phone facedown.
Nicholas was still standing nearby.
I looked up at him.
"How did you find me tonight?"
He considered the question.
"I knew you had made a reservation here."
"How?"
"I had information that placed you and Alex at this restaurant tonight."
I frowned.
"From whom?"
He glanced at Ms. Bennett.
She didn't interrupt, but her expression suggested that she wasn't going to answer for him.
Nicholas turned back to me.
"I can't explain every part of that yet."
I pressed my lips together.
"Then tell me something you can explain."
He nodded slowly.
"Your husband wasn't supposed to be able to dismiss this matter as a private disagreement between the two of you."
I stared at him.
"What does that mean?"
"It means the document needs to be dealt with separately from your marriage."
I looked down at the folder.
For the first time, I understood why the woman in black had been so careful with her words.
She wasn't there to mediate an argument.
She wasn't there to tell Alex to apologize.
She was there because something required an official response.
The officers were not there because I had been betrayed.
They were there because the matter went beyond the betrayal I had witnessed.
I rubbed my thumb against the edge of my wedding ring.
"Does Alex know you?"
Nicholas looked toward him.
"Yes."
That answer was immediate.
No hesitation.
I felt a fresh wave of anger.
"You know each other, and you let me sit here without telling me."
"I wasn't the right person to explain the documents to you."
"But you were the right person to watch me fall apart?"
His expression tightened slightly.
"No. I should have understood how difficult that would be."
I hadn't expected him to admit that.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
Then I looked toward the booth.
The blonde woman had picked up the ring box.
She closed it.
The sound was too small for me to hear, but I saw her fingers press the lid shut.
She held the box in her palm and looked at Alex.
He still wasn't speaking to her.
Something about that made me feel sad in a way I hadn't expected.
Whatever promises he had made her, he had brought her into a situation she clearly didn't understand.
I didn't forgive her.
I didn't forgive him.
But I knew what it felt like to sit across from someone you loved and realize that the person you trusted might have been telling you only the parts of the truth that suited him.
I turned back to Ms. Bennett.
"What happens to the document now?"
She explained that it would be retained and reviewed as part of the process.
My statement would be recorded.
If further information was needed, someone would contact me.
I nodded.
"Can I have a copy?"
She said she would explain what could be provided and how I could obtain the appropriate records.
I appreciated having a concrete next step.
I needed something more useful than another promise to explain later.
Then Alex called my name.
"Emma."
I didn't turn immediately.
I had spent the entire evening waiting for him to look at me.
Now that he was calling, I wanted him to stop.
I finally faced him.
He looked tired.
His collar was crooked.
His hand was empty.
The ring box was no longer with him.
"Please," he said. "Can we talk?"
I looked at the woman in black.
Then at Nicholas.
Then back at my husband.
"We can talk when you're ready to tell me the truth."
His eyes dropped.
And for once, I didn't rush to fill the silence.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: I Had Come to the Restaurant Hoping My Husband Would Choose Me Again, but I Left That Table With a Different Question
My Husband Sent Me an Anniversary Message While Sitting Close Enough for Me to See the Woman He Had Chosen Instead
Part 7 of 20
